We Pick Each Other Up
by Oswin Jae
Summary: Short oneshots of the musketeers, and others, being injured and helping each other feel better. H/C lots of H and extra C. No slash. I take requests.
1. D'Artagnan: Broken Leg

**Yes, I have started a new fic. This is my first venture in the Musketeers fandom. Hopefully I can keep it going for a while with regular-ish updates.**

**I do not, nor will I ever own the musketeers.**

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><p>d'Artagnan was getting sick of being unable to train, or ride, or simply <em>get out of bed<em>.

"It's your own fault," said Athos. He had his arms crossed and was leaning against the wall in d'Artagnan's room at the garrison. "You shouldn't have tried to climb to the top of that tree."

"Aramis bet me I couldn't do it," said d'Artagnan childishly.

"In the middle of a _thunder storm_."

d'Artagnan looked at the cast on his broken leg. "It seemed like a good idea."

"Sure it did."

The door opened and entered Porthos carrying a jar of something light brown.

"d'Artagnan, I've got new and amazing for you," the large musketeer handed the injured man the jar.

"What is it?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Taste it."

"What? No! It looks disgusting!"

"Just taste it!"

"It does look pretty disgusting," said Athos.

Porthos glared it him. "Look, d'Artagnan, I'm not gonna leave you alone until you taste it."

"Fine! What is it?" d'Artagnan gave in.

Porthos smiled. "Peanut butter."

"Peanut butter?" said Athos. "What kind of nonsense is that?"

"It's butter made out of peanuts you moron. Eat it d'Artagnan."

d'Artagnan reluctantly stuck his finger in the jar, scooped out some of the brown goop, and ate it. His eyes grew wide at the glorious taste.

And he was forever in debt to Porthos.

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><p><strong>Feel free to send me injuries for the musketeers, or ways to make them feel better. :)<strong>


	2. Porthos: Broken Fingers

**Hello again! I'm glad you came! I wasn't planning on updating until tomorrow, but I finished and couldn't wait. ;) Lucky for you. Many many thanks to Mascota for the wonderful ideas and suggestions. I may not use them all in a row, but they shall be done. ;)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers, it would be too much responsibility anyway.**

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><p>"I just don't understand why someone would want to kidnap me," complained Porthos, sitting at a table in his room staring at his bandaged hands.<p>

"I really don't know why either," said Aramis jokingly. He shrugged against the wall.

Porthos glared at him, "Hey, I could be important. Someone somewhere would pay a ransom for me."

Aramis nodded. "We'd pay to get you back, friend. But fighting is more fun."

"They probably wanted you because of your ties to the Court of Miracles," said Athos pacing, all seriousness. "You're lucky we found you when we did, or they might've broken more than your pointer fingers."

D'Artagnan leaned foreward, resting his forearms on the table between him and Porthos. "Why did they just break your pointer fingers?"

Porthos glared at the wall. "So I wouldn't be able to shoot."

"Cruel," muttered Athos.

"Tasteless," said Aramis.

"At least the physician said you would make a complete recovery," Athos came close to smiling.

"I just don't see how anyone could hurt Porthos," stated D'Artagnan. "Look at him, he's just a big stuffed bear."

Porthos growled at him.

"Forget that," D'Artagnan backpedaled. "He's just a bear."

Aramis walked over to Porthos and clapped him on the shoulder. "Know, friend, we would do anything to get you back."

D'Artagnan nodded fierceness coloring his eyes, "We would fight anyone or pay any ransom."

"Anything," said Athos setting a hand on his other shoulder, "to get our brother back."

"Aw, guys," Porthos bowed his head, "you make me feel special."

"You are special, bear," Aramis said smiling, "and until you can shoot again, we will all cover you."

"Thanks," said Porthos grinning. He didn't even feel the pain in his hands anymore.

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><p><strong>Was that fluffy enough for ya?<strong>


	3. Athos: Bullet

**This chapter is longer than the first two, and makes me very proud. :3 It fulfills some of Mascota's prompts; I hope you all enjoy! I hope you all appreciate what I went through to get you this so soon! Commence the reading!**

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><p>They musketeers, Aramis, Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan, were surrounded. <em>Nothing<em> happened on patrols. It never happened to the other musketeers; why did _they_ always get attacked by bandits?

Jumping from their horses, the musketeers fired into the bandits before drawing their swords for closer combat.

Athos' world dimmed to cutting, slashing, ducking, and stabbing; as he dispatched one bandit, another was sure to take his place. His sword was slick with blood. A larger than average bandit with his face covered with a swath of fabric stepped up. He was more skilled and controlled than the average mercenary, and Athos found it difficult for himself to keep up.

Finally the giant lashed out with his foot to kick Athos in the knee, simultaneously slashing a shallow cut just beneath Athos' collarbone.

Athos groaned as he collapsed. The mercenary above him chuckled. So focused was he on his impending victory, he didn't notice the dagger hidden in the fallen musketeer's boot until it was imbedded in his ribcage.

Athos stood shakily, picked up his sword and dagger, and stepped over the bandit's still body. He shook off the warm blood covering his gloved hand and arm up to the elbow.

With no bandits immediately around him, Athos took in the rest of the fighting in the woods. Aramis and Porthos were doing well and most of the mercenaries were either littering the forest floor or fleeing.

Athos spotted D'Artagnan. He was disarmed and completely weaponless, backed against a tree and panting. The obvious leader of the group was standing in front of him with D'Artagnan's own sword leveled against him. The point was scarcely a few inches from the youngest musketeer's heart.

The bandit reached into a holster strapped to his leg and pulled forth a loaded blunderbuss. He lowered the sword and pointed the musket at D'Artagnan's heart instead.

The young musketeer raised his chin and stared into the bandit's eyes with unadulterated pride and defiance.

Athos began running. He feet grew heavier. The air thickened around him and in his lungs. D'Artagnan's face merged with his younger brother's until he could no longer tell who he was running to.

"NO!" he shouted as he pushed the boy aside and the bandit fired.

Pain shot through his chest and blood pounded in his temples. He felt hard ground beneath his back but couldn't remember falling. He felt wet drops land on his face and heard the all-too familiar sound of a sword being pulled from a body.

D'Artagnan's face appeared in his swirling vision, framed by the sky and tree canopy above.

"Athos? Athos, can you hear me?" asked D'Artagnan, worry evident in his eyes and voice. It seemed too much effort to answer him so he didn't. The pain had condensed to an area on the left side of his chest. Aramis and Porthos joined his vision as well, asking mundane questions of pain as all went dark.

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><p>Athos could feel pain radiating from his shoulder like claws. He groaned and shifted but couldn't be bothered to open his eyes just yet.<p>

"Oh no," a voice grumbled above him. "I think he's waking up."

"He can't wake up yet. Aramis hasn't removed the bullet from his shoulder yet."

"I'm ready."

"We don't have any pain medicine."

"Just knock him out, Porthos! He's done it to you enough times."

"I knew it!"

Pain then nothing.

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><p>Two days later Athos awoke a second time. This time he was in his own bed, in his own room at the garrison.<p>

A dip in his mattress alerted him to the presence of someone else. He moved his head groggily to better view the person sitting at his side. D'Artagnan. Athos sighed and the smallest of small smiles crossed his lips.

D'Artagnan smiled at him. "I'm glad you survived," he said.

"I'm glad you survived too," replied Athos. "Despite your desperate attempts to the contrary."

D'Artagnan chuckled. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Bits and pieces. Vaguely."

"I've never seen you run so fast."

"I've never seen someone so prepared to die. It's a little worrisome."

"Don't worry, Athos, I don't plan on dying for a very long time."

"Good."

D'Artagnan looked down briefly before meeting the older man's eyes again. "You saved my life. I can never begin to repay you."

Athos shook his head. "You don't need to repay anything. You have helped me redeem myself. I owe you."

D'Artagnan looked slightly confused, but completely trusting. "I'll leave you for the night then. It's late and you need to heal so I can kick your butt in training."

"If you were half as good as you think you are that bandit wouldn't have kicked yours," Athos slurred, his eyes drooping with sleep.

"Night Athos."

"Nigh' D'Artagna'."

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><p><strong>As always, reviews make me have a very big happy and update quicker!<strong>


	4. Aramis: Cold

**And here is our fourth musketeer to whump. Thanks to everyone for reviewing and following and favoriting! You all make me so happy!**

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><p>Aramis had just wanted some peace and quiet. Just some time by himself resting in the shade by the lake on the outskirts of Paris. Listening to the birds and wondering how long it'd take Treville to notice he'd skipped out on training. But when he'd rode up on his horse and seen a damsel flailing in the water, how could he resist?<p>

Aramis jumped from his horse and took off running, leaves crunching under foot. He shed his cloak as he ran, and any unnecessary layers of leather, before flinging his shirt off and kicking his boots away. In only his trousers, Aramis ran into the chilled water.

The damsel's splashing became weaker, less violent. The musketeer's heart clenched as she went under. He kicked harder, widened his strokes. Aramis' breath came in sharp breaks, the cold water was turning his extremities numb. His wet hair got in his eyes, partially blinding him. The woman resurfaced, her weak splashing renewed.

Aramis grew nearer and heard her faint cries for help. She was about to go under again as he finally reached her.

"Shhh shh, calm down, calm, I'm here," he panted desperately. He reached for her waist to help support her.

She briefly fought him before realizing he was trying to save her. She relaxed in his grip and let him begin swimming them both to safety. Aramis felt her sides expand and contract with her ragged breaths. She weakly paddled along with him.

The way back to shore seemed twice as long and twice as cold. Autumn was nearing winter and it was not the time to be swimming. Aramis' arms were numb to the elbows and his legs to the knees; his chest felt like it had been mauled by a porcupine.

Finally, he felt rocks and mud beneath his tingling feet. He scrabbled for purchase and dragged the damsel and himself to shore.

They both collapsed side by side, panting and shivering. Aramis knew they couldn't remain here, frostbite or pneumonia would find them. He looked to his side to see who he'd rescued. The girl was very young, perhaps fifteen or sixteen. She had caramel colored hair and rose cheeks. The soaked folds of her blue dress surrounded her. She looked up at her savior with large green eyes.

Aramis stood with difficulty and began putting on his boots and leathers. He saved his shirt and cloak to wrap the shivering girl as he helped her stand. He led her over to his mount, all the while rubbing her arms to restore circulation. He lifted her up before mounting behind her.

He turned the horse around and galloped back to Paris.

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><p>Aramis sneezed. Again. Between coughing and sneezed and hacking he could hardly keep a conversation going with Porthos, who was sitting in a chair beside his bed.<p>

"Just eat the soup, Aramis."

"I don't want to eat the soup. It's nasty."

"Oi! I made it!"

Aramis sneezed. "So I noticed."

It had been two days since he'd saved the girl at the lake. They'd only barely made it to a physician before Aramis had blacked out, hence the large bruise and the side of his head. He'd woken up later that night in his own room back at the garrison, swaddled in blankets with a cold. No one new what had happened to the girl.

Porthos sighed. "You're just upset about that girl. Look, from what you've told us, she'll be fine. You got the kid to the physician. I'm sure he took care of her and she's already good as new."

Aramis stared into his bowl of soup and said nothing.

There was a light knock at the door.

Porthos stood as Aramis huddled further under his blankets, preparing for the draft opening the door would bring.

"Hello. Is, um... Aramis... here?" a small voice asked. Aramis' ears perked up.

"Yes, he is, miss." Porthos stepped aside and the girl Aramis had saved entered, and to Aramis' relief, she didn't look a bit sick.

She was wearing a bright yellow dress this time and was carrying something steaming and a small bundle. Aramis saw Porthos exit from the corner of his eye.

"Hello again," Aramis said trying to disguise his runny nose. "It pleases me to know you're alright."

The girl nodded with a small smile. "I'm sorry you're sick. I brought you some soup."

Aramis took it and inhaled as deeply as he could with his partially functioning nose. This he would enjoy eating. "Think nothing of it. I've had much worse. What's your name?"

"Belle," she said. "Thank you for saving me."

"You're very welcome," Aramis smiled at her. He suffered through a small coughing fit. "If you don't mind my asking, what were you doing in that cold lake?"

"I heard there was treasure in the lake. I'd never swam before and I didn't think it would be that difficult," she giggled.

Aramis chuckled too. "Reality check for a dreamer, eh?"

She smiled, "I suppose. I've always wanted to be an adventurer."

"Well if you have that much determination and heart, you can do whatever you like. Just stay away from water."

Belle blushed. "I have your shirt and cloak too," she handed him the bundle.

Aramis shook his head. "Keep the cloak. You'll need a cloak for all your adventures, Belle," he winked at her.

"Thank you," she said.

"Thank you."

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><p><strong>And the next to be whumped and comforted: Captain Treville.<strong>


	5. Treville: Shot

**Hello, hello! I think I've done pretty well since I never intended this fic to be updated daily. But since so many of you have liked this I have. Thanks for all the reviews!**

**I do not own The Musketeers.**

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><p>Athos sat his sword and dagger on the dresser in his room. He'd just finished his own training, though some still toiled on outside. He removed his gloves and belt and stretched before laying down on his bed. He didn't see the harm in relaxing for a while before eating dinner with Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan.<p>

He felt he was just about to fall asleep when a shot and a cry of pain rang from outside. Athos was immediately suspicious since there was no shooting practice today. He was even more suspicious when laughter wafted up through his window.

Athos sighed, knowing he would regret going out there. He stood up anyway and walked out to see what happened.

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><p>Athos leaned against the wall in Treville's office as Aramis patched the musketeers' captain up.<p>

Porthos couldn't contain it anymore, and began chuckling quietly in the corner.

"What, exactly, is so funny?" Treville asked while glaring at Porthos, clearly imagining brutal murder.

Porthos wasn't abashed. "You shot yourself in the foot." He kept laughing.

D'Artagnan began laughing as well. They'd all refrained from saying it aloud. Until now.

"It's what you get for trying to show off," said Aramis from his kneeled position in front of the captain.

Treville growled but said nothing.

"You're already the captain," said D'Artagnan, "what else were you trying to gain by swinging that musket around like that?"

"You should know better than to attempt such feats in your olden age," teased Athos.

Treville chuckled. "You all just wait until I can run again. I'll kick your butts."

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><p><strong>Next chapter the cycle starts over again with D'Artagnan.<strong>


	6. D'Artagnan: Beating

**Hello everyone! I'm so sorry for not updating yesterday! I got dragged through a ton of stores (limping since I hurt my leg) and when we finally made it back home I was too exhausted to write anything you'd enjoy reading. But here it finally is!**

**This is for the anonymous reviewer (I don't know who you are but you do) who wanted some brotherly love for a hurt D'Artagnan. I hope you all enjoy!**

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><p>D'Artagnan was on his way to meet up with Aramis, Porthos, and Athos to decide what to do for lunch. The red guards had come up from behind him, undetectable, silent, and stealthy. Unsuspecting D'Artagnan didn't know he was under attack until they'd removed his weapons and dragged him into a side alley.<p>

The youngest musketeer fought back with his fists, but he was outnumbered by six of the red guards. Fists rained and boots pounded and stomped and D'Artagnan was lost in the haze of it.

"_HEY!_" familiar shouts rang out above. The ones beating him stopped and D'Artagnan became aware he was laying curled on his side on the muddy cobblestone ground.

D'Artagnan fought to open his already swelling eyes. Between the legs of the red guards he saw three silhouettes backlit in the mouth of the alley.

"Get away from our little brother," growled Porthos as he and Aramis and Athos stepped forward.

One of the red guards held his hands up. "We don't want any trouble with you," he said.

"On the contrary," said Athos, glaring under the brim of his hat. "Looks like that's exactly what you want."

"And that, gentlemen," said Aramis, "is exactly what you've got."

"So you wanna fight too, eh?" The red guards settled into fighting stances and raised their fists.

"Oh no," said Athos, "We're not going to fight you. Not right here, not right now."

"I have each of your faces memorized," said Aramis pointing at each of them.

Porthos growled, "Right now, we're going to take D'Artagnan back to the musketeers' garrison. And we're going to patch him up."

"And after that," said Athos, perfectly calm, "We're going to hunt each and every one of you down, and beat you into the ground."

"But for right now," Aramis smiled charmingly deadly, "you're going to let us through without a fight."

"Because if one of you moves the wrong way," said Porthos, "I'll smash your head in."

The musketeers strode forward and the red guards all backed away with their hands raised. Athos bent down and Aramis helped him place an unconscious D'Artagnan as comfortably as possible on his shoulders.

Walking back out of the alley, Porthos turned and thrust his fist into the face of the nearest red guard, who fell backwards, the back of his head smacking into a brick wall.

"He moved the wrong way?" asked Athos.

"Aye," growled Porthos, "he was breathin'."

Aramis turned back and smiled charmingly. "See you all soon."

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><p>D'Artagnan's eyes fluttered erratically. He groaned in pain from his head, face, chest, arms, legs, <em>everywhere<em>.

"Hey there, little brother," Porthos swirled and faded in D'Artagnan's vision before finally steadying. "Aw man, you really don't look good."

"Thanks," mumbled D'Artagnan through a crooked smile. "I've seen you better. How'd you get that?"

Porthos shrugged, seemingly proud of his own single black eye. "Maybe one day I'll tell ya."

D'Artagnan then became aware Athos and Aramis were also in his room. "Hey."

"How do you feel?" asked Athos.

"Like I lost a lot of fights."

Aramis shrugged. "That could be accurate. How much do you remember?"

"I remember your rather _late_ arrival," D'Artagnan mock glared. "And then blacking out."

Aramis clicked his tongue. "You know what that means, Athos?"

"What does that mean, Aramis?"

"It means he missed all our threats to the red guards."

D'Artagnan couldn't help but smile at his brothers.

"The threats were my favorite part," said Porthos.

There was a knock at the door which Athos went and opened. Captain Treville entered and nodded at the invalided D'Artagnan.

"You're feeling better, I hope?" the captain asked.

"Healing," said D'Artagnan. "So that means hurting."

Treville smiled. "Yes, the healing is in the aching." He addressed the three other musketeers. "I assume you three have heard the news on the streets?"

They didn't look at all surprised or intrigued. "What news?" asked Athos.

"The news about the six red guards found yesterday," supplied Treville.

D'Artagnan furrowed his brows; something was definitely off.

"Hmmm, six red guards," said Aramis thoughtfully. "Pray tell."

Treville gave him a knowing look. "Six red guards were found over the course of yesterday, all in empty alleys. They were nearly beaten to death and unrecognizable. In fact the ones who found them thought they were dead."

"How unfortunate," said Porthos.

"For the red guards," added Aramis.

"Indeed," Treville said slowly, eyeing each musketeer carefully in the room. "Quite a shiner you've got there, Porthos."

"Happens," Porthos answered.

Athos opened the door. "It's been informative, truly captain, but our little pup needs his sleep," he said, controversially dismissing the captain.

Treville stopped in the doorway and eyed Athos. "It would be a shame for whoever attacked the red guards if they suddenly remember the culprits."

"Yes it would," said Athos. "Although, I have a gut feeling they covered their tracks well."

"I'm sure they did," said Treville. "Get well soon, D'Artagnan," the captain tossed over his shoulder as he left.


	7. Porthos: Punched

**You cannot comprehend the level of sorry I am for not updating. I've been going Christmas shopping pretty much everyday and my dad's on vacation so he's been wanting to go places and now I'm sick. If illness is what it takes for me to finally get this chapter done that **_**would not cooperate**_**, then it worked!**

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><p>D'Artagnan laughed at the endearing sight of Porthos surrounded by a gaggle of giggling children in the street.<p>

"This happens all the time," said Aramis. "Children love Porthos. They think he's cuddly."

The squealing children ran around his legs and climbed up tables to jump on his shoulders. Porthos laughed along with them.

"He doesn't seem un-cuddly," said D'Artagnan.

A small girl, perhaps four or five years of age, in a pink dress with two blond braids ran up to the large musketeer and began tugging on his trousers.

"Monsieur Porthos!," she cried out happily, "Can I punch you in the stomach?"

"Of course you can, lass," Porthos picked the little girl up and placed her on top a table. He then placed his hands on his hips and stood straight in front of her. "Give it your all, now. Show me how strong you are," Porthos said while chuckling.

"This happens all the time too," said Aramis. "Children ask if they can punch him in the gut, he lets them, and then he acts like he's hurt. He has fun, the kids love it, and I think it does wonders for their self esteem."

D'Artagnan nodded. "Do you think he'd let me punch him if I asked nicely?"

"You'd have to actually be five," said Athos, "not just have the mentality of a five-year-old."

D'Artagnan pouted.

The little girl pulled her small fist back, a look of pure concentration covering her face. She swung forward and caught Pothos on his left side. Porthos' eyes grew wide and he grunted. He stumbled a couple steps backwards before falling like a tree and landing like a rock, groaning. He curled up on his right side.

"Wow," said D'Artagnan. "Porthos is a _good_ actor. I wouldn't have suspected that."

"He usually doesn't put quite so much effort into acting hurt," said Aramis. "Must've wanted to give that girl somthing to brag about."

The children all scattered, laughing. They found their interests captured by other things and soon it was just the four musketeers in the street. Porthos was still lying on his side.

"I not so sure Porthos is acting," said Athos skeptically.

Concerned, his three friends walked over to him.

"They're gone now," Aramis gently kicked his leg, "you don't have to act wounded anymore."

"Hey Aramis?" Porthos ground out with obvious effort.

"Yeah?"

"You know that broken rib I got a month ago and said healed?"

"Yes."

"Apparently it didn't."

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><p>Porthos had one arm slung over Athos' shoulders and the other on Aramis' as they helped him back to the garrison. D'Artagnan had gone on ahead to get some ice ready.<p>

They entered the garrison and were met by D'Artagnan and Treville. They followed as Athos and Aramis got Porthos to his room and on his bed.

D'Artagnan gave Porthos the ice to hold against his rib. "Captain," Porthos said, "I'm surprised you haven't asked what happened to me yet."

"D'Artagnan told me," the captain replied.

"And so what if twenty others overheard," said D'Artagnan grinning.

"I'm gonna thump you," growled Porthos.

Treville gave a rare grin. "Do point this little girl out to me so I know to avoid her."

Porthos glared at the captain who only had a slight limp now. "I haven't forgotten you shot yourself in the foot."

Treville held his arms out wide. "Anytime you wanna fight, Porthos! I'll hand your backside to you."

Athos placed his hand on the captain's shoulder. "I think we should all leave Porthos to rest and come to terms with his defeat by the hand of a small child."

"I'll take on anyone of ya right now," said Porthos.

"Get some sleep, I will check on you later." said Aramis, and they all left.

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><p><strong>So yeah. The foot thing's a bit of a sore spot for Treville. I wouldn't bring it up.<strong>

**So I realized I forgot to comfort Treville after whumping him. Oh well, he kinda deserved it.**


	8. Athos: Poisoned

**Hello! Yes, it's me again. Until the holidays are over I'm aiming for updating every other day cause updating every day just isn't possible for me. I'm almost entirely over my cold though. Yay! And The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies is AMAZING! So worth going out in the cold while being sick. lol**

**Jayel7: I assume by long fic you meant multi chapter? I'll consider it. I'm not very confident in my ability to consistently update currently. If I do I may expand the plot from this chapter. Thanks for reviewing and inspiring me!**

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><p>Athos didn't remember being knocked out, but the pain pulsating in his head let him know it had happened.<p>

A rough cloth was wrapped around his eyes, blocking out any and all light. His hands and feet were bound also, not that he could have escaped anyway. Athos felt all his energy had been forcibly leeched from him.

Hands lifted his head up and a cup was pressed to his lips. The liquid tasted vile but Athos literally couldn't refuse. His head was dropped back to the ground and he lost consciousness again.

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><p>Athos pried open his bleary eyes to let the dim sunlight in. His ears were assaulted by the early morning sounds of life in Paris. People chatting and carts being pushed and pulled to and from wherever.<p>

Athos struggled to sit up and leaned his stiff and aching back against the wall of the building behind him. He'd woken up in streets and alleys drunk before, but he knew this time he hadn't been drinking. However, he did feel strange. Like some part of his brain was blocked off or clouded.

He staggered to his feet and was somewhat surprised when he actually stayed upright. He took a moment to orient himself before swaying off in the direction of the garrison.

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><p>Upon entering the garrison, Athos was struck with an enormous sense of deja vu. There was something here he was specifically <em>not remembering<em>.

A large man with dark skin and black curly hair hidden under a bandana came up to him. Anger sparked in Athos' chest and throat at the mere sight of him.

"Hey Athos," the large man said. "Where ya been? We haven't seen ya since you disappeared on us last night."

Athos snarled. Primal fury reared up within him, turning his bones to fire. Athos lashed out to strike Porthos in the jaw with his fist. Porthos backpedaled, shocked. He had no time to comprehend what was happening before Athos struck him again. And again. And. Again.

Athos was on top of Porthos on the ground. Relentless in punishing the man for nothing while he burned in his own internal fire.

There were shouts and hands grabbed him, pulling, prying, jerking. Athos kicked and scratched at the familiarly unfamiliar faces. Eyes of friends and teeth of dogs and _they needed to die because it was his job and he was burning and why weren't they burning and he should made them burn and groan because they deserved it and so did he_.

Stars and black spots mixed in his vision as Athos lost feelings in his arms and legs. He flopped on the ground, burning cold. He tasted the dirt covering his tongue and lips more clearly than anything had ever been tasted. All he wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry and have someone hold him.

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><p>"Athos? Athos, can you wake up for me?"<p>

Athos groaned. His throat was too dry for any other sound. He received a cup of water for his lack of effort.

"Athos?"

"Aramis?" he choked out. He opened his eyes. Aramis' face appeared before him. He sucked in a shocked breath, irritating his throat again. Pain in his knuckles pulsed and throbbed in time with his heartbeat. "I'm so sorry, friend."

Aramis smiled, which contrasted with his swollen black eye, split lip, bruised cheekbone and jaw. "No worries, we know you weren't yourself."

"Where's D'Artagnan? And Porthos? Oh, Porthos-" Athos remembered the unbridled unquenchable fury. The feeling of his fist connecting with Porthos' face. "I didn't- What did I do?"

"Nothing a brilliant medic, like me, couldn't fix up easily," Aramis smirked. "Although, you did kick D'Artagnan in a certain spot that may have had him crying, poor boy."

Athos couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his dry lips, though he felt horrible, physically and emotionally. He'd attacked his _friends_. It had been like he didn't even know who they were.

"And for Porthos," continued Aramis, "he's just fine. He's asleep in his room, it is midnight, after all. It's just some severe bruising, you didn't even break his nose. He'll be just fine."

"Aramis?" asked Athos, though he dreaded the answer, "Why aren't you angry at me? I have no idea what came over me, I was not myself. But you seem to know it was beyond my control. How?"

"Well we were quite confused for a bit," Aramis smiled. "But right after you so elegantly passed out, Adnet, Blaise, and Edgard returned from their mission."

"I didn't know they were on a mission," interrupted Athos.

"Well good cause it was a secret mission, all very hush-hush," Aramis winked. "There was a particular anti-monarchy group that had been a bit too quiet for too long for the king and the cardinal's liking. So Treville sent them to investigate, which was a very good thing."

"I'm not seeing what this has to do with you not being mad at me for attacking you, although I am very grateful," said Athos.

"I'm getting there, quit interrupting," Aramis reprimanded. "And they discovered a series of cases where ordinary and unconnected people attacked their friends and family in fits of extreme rage, much like yourself. I'll cut to the chase because your eyes are drooping and I don't want you to fall asleep before I'm done," Aramis spoke quickly. "The group has been spending a considerable amount of time developing a poison that causes people to attack those they are loyal too. They'd planned on giving the poison to guards and musketeers close to the king so they would temporarily go mad and kill him. They'd been kidnapping random people from the streets and forcing the poison on them to study the effects. So basically, Athos," concluded Aramis, "you have some terrible luck."

"Fascinating, Aramis," said Athos, who was struggling to keep his eyes open. "Now can you explain it again tomorrow when I can understand it?"

Aramis chuckled. "Goodnight Athos. Know you are forgiven. Of everything."

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><p><strong>Thank you all for the amazing reviews! They make me feel so happy and inspired. <strong>

**If you would like a musketeer or someone (no one is off limits) whumped or comforted in a specific way (no slash and must stay rated T or under) drop it in a review! I'll get to it! ;)**


	9. Aramis: Shot

**Okay, I am sorry. So very sorry. I got a new laptop for Christmas, and it had issues. It wouldn't access the internet and everything was blocked and it just didn't like me. I just got it back and it's fixed so I can update again! Yay!**

**Debbie: Thank you! I'll do it. D'Art is at the beginning of the next cycle.**

**Guest: Aww I'm so glad they made your day! Queen Anne is up next.**

**If I do have different characters get the same injury (like here, I've also shot Treville) I promise they will be in very, very different ways so nothing feels repeated.**

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><p>Aramis balanced the pumpkin perfectly on top his head and winked at Porthos. He trusted his friend completely.<p>

Porthos on the other hand, didn't trust himself so much. He couldn't back out, though. It was one thing to shoot a pumpkin off his friend's head when they were out having fun and showing off, but another entirely to be captured by six sadistic red guards and have a pistol pressed to the back of your head under threat of being shot if you didn't shoot at your friend.

Porthos struggled to steady his hand, his musket seemed to be weaving all over the place. They'd given him an ancient one; Porthos wasn't even sure it would fire. But he guessed it made the red guards feel better.

Another red guard leveled a pistol to his head. "Shoot. Now."

Porthos growled. Aramis smiled and winked at him. This was no big deal to him. "Come on, Porthos," Aramis shouted at him. "The sooner you shoot this pumpkin the sooner we can take care of these guys and get some lunch."

Porthos couldn't help but chuckle as he attempted to aim again. He had made this shot before. Multiple times; it was always fine. He would be fine. Aramis would be fine. The red guards would not be so fine. "You're all going to pay for this," he growled and fired. The pumpkin exploded, shattered pieces of outsides and insides flying in all directions, the ground painted in orange clusters. And red spots..

Aramis hit the ground.

Silence. Stillness. Echoes.

Porthos' eyes trained on the still figure. His edges of his vision darkened, blackened. He surged forward all too fast and too slow. The voices of the shouting red guards faded into unimportant nothingness.

"I've seen him make the shot before!"

"He killed him!"

"This was just supposed to be a joke!"

"We have to go!"

_He killed him he killed him he killed him killed him killed him._

_Dead dead dead dead dead._

"Aramis!" he yelled, finally reaching his friend and cradling his pale head in his lap and blood blood blood.

Athos and D'Artagnan arrived not a moment later, swords out and ready to be covered in blood. However, after spotting Aramis and Porthos they let the guards go.

Porthos was only aware of running and shouting and running and carrying and his hands were red, as red as Aramis' head. If Aramis died he died. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. Porthos suddenly thought passing out seemed an okay thing to do so he did.

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><p>Darkness. It was pierced by a single candle on the window sill. Porthos rubbed at his eyes and blinked until his eyes adjusted. The room was not as dark as he previously believed; it was only just after sunset.<p>

The room was Aramis'. The man in question was laying on the bed, pale and still with his head wrapped neatly in stark white bandages. Guilt unfurled into Porthos' stomach and chest and clench his heart. He'd shot his best friend in the head. While said best friend had trusted him enough to not do it. His hands curled into fists and Porthos seriously considered punching himself until he passed out again.

"Physician just left," Athos' voice startled him. The man was leaning in the doorway.

"Where's D'Artagnan?" Porthos asked because he could think of nothing else to say.

"He fell asleep in the floor next to Aramis' bed. I carried him back to his room."

"What'd the physician have to say?"

"It's nothing serious," Athos shook his head. "It looked a lot worse than it was because head wounds bleed so much. The ball just grazed the top of his head. He'll have to get used to his new hairline for a bit and wear his hat when he flirts with the ladies but it'll all grow back."

Porthos nodded. "I did this. It could have been so much worse," he said pointing the bed and the prone figure on it. "I shot Aramis," his voice cracked and he couldn't make it through the name before tears began pooling in his eyes.

"It. Was. Not. Your. Fault," stated Athos.

"How would you know?" shouted Porthos. "You weren't there!"

"I was there!" Athos shouted back. "D'Artagnan and I stumbled upon you right as you shot! Trust me, you could control _nothing_."

"I could have not shot him!"

"That musket was ancient! It's testament to your skill that you didn't kill him!"

"Athos-"

"Do you want me to smack you?" yelled Athos. "Because I am stressed enough to do it!"

"Orthos?" The weak voice wasn't quite awake, but aware enough to want the shouting to stop.

Porthos was at the bedside in a second. "Aramis?" Aramis face was white white white and his dark curls were hidden beneath the bandages. His body was hidden under a mound of blankets. He was already out again.

Porthos lifted his legs up onto the bed and reclined against the headboard. He would be here when Aramis awoke. And get anything anything anything he needed.

Athos tossed an extra blanket over the both of them. "I'll be back at dawn and if you still feel guilty I will slap you." Athos left.

Porthos snuggled down beside his friend. Aramis was going to be fine. Porthos would always carry some guilt inside him. But his brother was alive and would do whatever he had to protect him.

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><p><strong>I've been experimenting with my writing style. I hope it's good!<strong>


	10. Queen Anne: Fall

**Definite spoilers for the end of season one. Just saying, I live in the United States so the Musketeers doesn't start again until the 17th. I want season two so bad! So no spoilers please!**

**Guest: And here is the adorable Queen Anne for you. :)**

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><p>Queen Anne was content. Happy even. The baby was being extra kicky inside her stomach today. She smiled, lightly rubbing a hand over her swollen belly. She'd escaped from her maids for a brief stroll through the palace in peace.<p>

The halls were warmed by summer, the decorative walls and marble floors tinted gold by the thick light shining through the windows. It illuminated tapestries, statues, all the things Anne didn't care about right now. Her mind was solely occupied by her child inside her and serene thoughts of a certain Musketeer she didn't see nearly as often as she'd like.

The world sounded so quiet in the empty halls, but the beauty was so loud.

Not paying attention, the queen took a wrong turn. The polished floor disappeared from beneath her feet. Gravity wrapped her its arms and pulled.

Pain in her ankle. Agony in her hip. Lacerations on her arms and legs. Anne tumbled down the steps. A cry warbled past her lips.

She finally thudded to the ground. Aching and pulsing with pain. She lay there still and unmoving. Pain was unimportant. Any injuries she sustained were meaningless. But her _child_. She'd already lost one baby, she could not lose another. The baby had stopped kicking.

Anne lay there praying. She prayed and she prayed and prayed.

"My queen!" A single set of pounding footsteps rattled the floor and her bones. Anne realized she was crying.

The man knelt beside her. Her vision wasn't clear. Musketeer uniform, brown hair, brown eyes. But not Aramis. Where was Aramis? She wanted Aramis.

"What happened, my queen?" Anne vaguely recognized him. He was the newest one. She could not remember his name. "Where are you injured?"

"My child," was all she could say. "My child has to be okay."

The new Musketeer picked her up. Though she knew he was trying to be gentle, he rattled bruises and scrapes. She gasped in pain.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," the young man said. The trek through the halls back to the queen's chambers was a haze of dull pains and she even thought she blacked out once.

NotAramis laid her down on her bed. The queen relished the plush comfort of the mattress.

NotAramis began shouting for maids and a physician.

She grabbed NotAramis' wrist like a vice. "My baby," she whispered desperately. "The physician has to check my baby."

"He will," the musketeer said. "I'm sure your baby is perfectly fine, your highness. We need to make sure you are alright as well."

"My baby is all that matters to me."

Queen Anne was consumed in dark and morbid thoughts, remembering her first child she lost. She didn't notice the physician had arrived until she felt him pushing on her stomach. He pressed on several spots as the queen watched intensely.

The bearded physician stopped and looked at the queen. "I'm sorry your majesty, but I really can't know if-"

The queen gasped.

"Your highness? My queen, what is it?"

A large radiant smile split the queen's face. "My baby. I felt him kick."

The room filled with cheers. Anne smiled, rubbing her belly lightly. Most was right again. If only she had Aramis.

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><p><strong>D'Artagnan is up next. It may take a few days, because I'm planning on making it long and intense. For you Debbie. ;)<strong>


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